’ Gerald moved to the long sofa, dusted it with elaborate care with one of its cushions, and with a gesture invited her to sit down. "Not a single whooper-upter! Nothing but torment and remorse … and Ruth! Children, put your arms around me. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. CHAPTER XXVIII. [Illustration: Distinctive Pictures Corporation. She had to resist an impulse of sheer terror, to run out after them and give in.
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